Unknown...Despair...A lost. Search 1 | Hate It was a beautiful school. Large, skillfully designed and built. Clad in the brand new uniform, she followed the streaming masses into the gates, barely avoiding a shove or push around the shoulders. Her fingers were clenched tightly on the straps of her backpack, a half-cold, half-anxious expression. She hurried to the notice board, where the class registers were. Scanning them quickly, she located her class number. 9, Class 1N. Her old classmates spotted her and ran over to discuss their new classes. "Class N? I'm in N too!" "It's not fair, almost all of you guys are in the same class! I'm in L!" "Well, I'm with you at any rate. In class L." She spoke. "I'm glad to have you people around. Hey, we're just next to each other anyway, and you know how much the classes mix around. They nodded in agreement. "New students, please make your way up to your respective classes now." They talked as they made their way up the stairs, then split to go into their classes. She sat down in a place near the window, looking out at the other school block opposite. No one. It was expected of course. Only the new students were required to come today. Her form teacher soon came in. She seemed pleasant. Asking for their names, playing games, going through the clubs they could join and important school affairs like that. Nothing much, really. That day ended, after many introductions and clarifications. She waited at the side gate for her father to come in his shining Mercedes, a cover of their wealth. She really hated girls' schools. It was a lot easier to get along with the boys than those creatures. They were so much more easy-going. She would have to live in a girls' school for four years. And she disliked it immensely, especially when she was supposed to be in a mixed-gender school, but because of her father's constant lamenting she had ended up here instead. She already hated the place. The honks from a Mercedes broke her train of thought, and she dashed to the car. "How was school?" Her father asked expectantly. "Fine." She tossed out the word carelessly, faking a smile. He nodded, and she was on her way home. It took 20 minutes on car, home to school, school to home, and 1 hour on bus, home to school, school to home. She lived day by day. It was several months since she entered. And everyday, it was going to school, going home, doing homework. She hated all of them. Other than her old classmates, they were all...well... Endless, brainless, giggling, talking about boys, going 'eww' and screaming about miscellaneous things that were totally pointless. She didn't have anything to say to them, so she always kept quiet. And just did her work. Classmates gossiped about her being proud, bossy... She never said anything. And that was all. But as all females are. They delight in finding an object to spite. She struggled through. And she passed. That wasn't enough. After all, she was in one of the top schools in the country, wasn't she? They didn't really understand how the scene was different from before. More subjects. Harder tests. She tried. She tried, at least to pass, to keep them happy. She shut up every time they yelled at her, every time they screamed that she was a disappointment. She tried to love them. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't. She despised them. She hated them. She wanted to flee, away from all this. Of course, it was impossible. It was a strict country, a strict system. Who always believed they were right. Opposing parties were thrown into jail for slander. Takers of lives had their lives taken. She never did oppose them, although she felt like stabbing them sometimes. Teachers. They thought she was shy, timid, a poor little outcast from the groups in the class. Stupid. They were all stupid. And she sometimes wondered, whether they ever did understand, and ever considered what might be coming out of their mouths. Because they sometimes made it worse. Life was like that. So she kept a penknife. She found it handy. Cutting paper. Things like that. She pressed it down. A unit of the blade snapped off. It would be better that way. Sharper. And it understood her. It was a late afternoon. She was staying back for her club activities in the classroom, fingers flying across the keyboard at the computer. A laugh disrupted the silence in the near-empty classroom. She looked back with a wary glance. One of them. Chatting on her handphone. She turned back to the monitor. Loud talking ensued from behind her. Her grip on the mouse tightened. Laughter. Gossip. Laughter again. And finally went quiet again as the conversation ended. She went on typing, typing. Soft clicks of the handphone wafted over. And more loud greetings. And talking. All over again. And she couldn't take it. She couldn't stand the voices ringing, pounding into her ears. The drag of the chair as she stood up seemed to gon on as she hooked her classmate's neck in her arm, knocking the Nokia out of her hands. It travelled down, whistling as it whipped past the air. "Hello? Hello? .smash. And that was all that was left of the phone. Struggling. Screaming. To no avail, because there was no one there. Gasping. Clutching. And limply, the fingers scratching at her arm dropped. She closed her eyes in acceptance of darkness. Wildness flashed in her eyes and she loosened her grip on her neck. Too late. Then panic took over. Then fear. Then calm. She knew it would happen. Maybe her intention was really to kill her, for she couldn't break her hold then. But she had to do something about it now. How to get rid of the body. Permanently. Of course, she knew it would be hard. She was just a student. It was a body. Her fingerprints were on it. She rummaged in the broom closet. As expected, there was a black rubbish bag. She shoved the body in, and made her way down for her club activities. She walked along the corridor, dragging the black bag, carrying her backpack. "Little girl, what's in the bag?" She turned abruptly, and smiled at the old cleaner lady. "My class had a party, and I'm in charge of throwing away the rubbish." She came over and took the bag. "It's quite heavy." "They didn't finish all the food." She beamed. "I'll dump it when I go downstairs." The cleaner lady paused. "It's okay. You have to go for your club activities, right? I'll help you get rid of it." "Is it too heavy?" "Ha. You should feel the weight of what I bring down every morning." She laughed with the old woman. "Okay then. Good luck." The old cleaner lady grinned, and dragged the body behind her. She waved and went downstairs. It had been two days. Two days since... No, she wasn't feeling guilty. But sooner or later, someone would find out. So there was only one thing to do. It occupied her hind in the morning lessons. Of course, she never showed it. She never showed what she was thinking, or feeling. It was only at the break when she finally decided what to do. With long, confident strides, she stepped out of the classroom, through the never-ending crowd of students, laughing, talking, grumbling. She neared the staffroom. And turned right to the only toilet on the floor. There was quite a squeeze in the toilet. Many girls were changing from their physicla fitness period. She waited for a cubicle. She opened the door, and sat on the toilet bowl. She drew her penknife from her pocket. It made a sickening creaking sound when the blade was being pushed out. Her fate was the same. After all, she would be condemned when they found out, wouldn't she? Amidst the screaming and chatting of the students in the toilet, she kept a perfect silence and slashed at her wrist. She placed the blade at the cut and pressed down. Blood flowed readily from the wound. And she repeated it for the other wrist, twisting the blade about. The cuts weren't visible. They were covered by blood. As everything else was. The off-white of the penknife was covered with crimsome paint. The uniform was stained. And she leaned back into the wall, murmuring apologies. Immense pain. It hurt. Badly. It ran up and down her body. She wished that there was an easier way. She wished that she hadn't come here. She wished that she could have changed it somehow. ...she wished that it would be over soon. Her eyelids fluttered down a little, blood draining out of her. Her vision blurred, and the sounds faded away. A swirling black in front of her eyes. The pain in her wrists. And she closed her eyes. "What's that?" "Eww, it's red!" "It looks like blood!" "Blood? How can that be blood?" "What else can it be?" "Really?! Maybe we should call a teacher!" "It's coming from this one..." "What's happening?" "Look at that! On the floor!" "Is it blood, teacher?" "I...I don't know. We have to open the door." .knock knock. "Is there anyone in there?" .silence. "Hey!" .silence. "I don't hear anything." "Get the cleaning lady. Now." .shuffle. .BANG. "Open the door now." The cubicle door swung open. She would have died, anyway. end back